


The Birds And The Bees

by Perdition



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perdition/pseuds/Perdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift for the Lady to my Vergil in an rp we're in.  Vergil's nightmares are not for the faint of heart.  Or those who wet themselves from laughter at his misfortune.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birds And The Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely person who plays Lady to my Vergil in an rp. We've joked about how white trash their relationship really is, and this is one of the many scenarios we've laughed about.

This wasn't happening. Every fiber in Vergil's being screamed that at him, as he found himself smashed against the side of the black-and-white, powerless to snap the cold cuffs encircling his wrists and prevent it. Moreover, to strangle the bastard who did it. _Where were his powers?_ Why was he so weak, unable to do a thing in his own defense?

Blood slipped from a cut near hairline and into his eye, and he blinked frantically to clear his vision, as he was jostled against the car again. He was calling police brutality, goddammit.

"Yeah, like smacking around the ladies, doncha, big boy." Vergil snarled at the voice, attempting to twist in the grip he found himself in to chew the man's face right off his goddamn skull. But, yet again, he seemed fragile and weak, and was rewarded for his actions with his head bouncing off the roof of the car, and stars littered his vision for a moment.

"You _take his ass to jail._" It was screeched from the front porch of the trailer, and Vergil wrenched his neck to send her a nice, long death glare. One that promised pain, and lots of it. He saw her there, standing on the porch in that ratty, disgusting nightgown she refused to throw out, pink curlers peeking from her hair like plated armor, beer bottle in hand. A bottle identical to that which had split his scalp, and he bared his fangs at her, eyes momentarily flashing red and black before he was slammed against the roof of the car once more.

"You take his ass to jail and _keep him there_. Mouthy bastard." Oh, he was going to show her a mouthy bastard when he got out. She could set her watch and warrant on it, guaranteed.

In the sides of his somewhat blurred vision, four little white-haired monsters streaked past the car, two of which were clad in nothing but tiny, ill-fitting underpants, screaming at the tops of their tiny lungs. "Why's the leeseman gots Daddy, Mama? Why's Daddy gotta go with leeseman."

Vergil took that moment to look to the sky above, as he was frisked (he was in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, so he would think it was fairly apparent he had nothing on him, and if they thought a cavity search was in order, they were in for a _very rude surprise_) and simply asked to be struck down. Right then, right there.

"Oh, babies." Lady's voice had taken on a cooing, motherly tone, and he could see, in his mind's eye, her bending down to gather the little monsters to her like she actually knew what the hell she was doing. And like she wasn't at fault for this whole attrocity. "Daddy's just being stupid, but that's okay. Mama's gonna get it fixed."

"_What_" It was roared, as Vergil wrenched around again, actually tugging the portly cop holding him by the cuffs around hard enough he slapped with a jiggle into the side of the car. "You started it, you goddamn _harpy_."

That earned him a dark look, as Lady reached down and covered the eyes of the two closest to her. "Shut up, asshole. I told you not to talk to me that way."

"You have _got_ to be outright shitting me." He tugged again, almost breaking free of the cop's grip, before he was forcibly shoved toward the car's open back door. "Just you wait, you she-beast from Hell. _Your day is coming_." And with that, he was shoved into the seat and the door was closed, cutting off Lady's angry response.

He could see Dante, standing there looking like a mental ward escapee in his tiny little cutoff shorts, that fuzz on his chin entirely too ridiculous to believe. Two more little monsters peered into the window of the car, mismatched eyes wide, snot all over one face, the other smeared with dirt and God only knew what else. If he hadn't known any better, he'd swear those two were not his own, but Dante's.

Vergil jerked awake and sat bolt upright, a sticky film of sweat coating him though the night was cool. His breathing was strained, and he reached up, pushing the hair from his face, before glancing to the other side of the bed, where Lady had curled up, her back to him.

Cautiously, he reached over and patted at her hair, earning a swat and a grumbled, incoherent protest, and satisfied there were no curlers there he pulled away, before pulling back the covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. No more sleeping, sleeping was done. He didn't want to drift under again and be faced with that harpy. Or those children. Hadn't he stated he was a mule? He had, and he was. There would be no such nonsense.

He stood and padded out of the room, putting as much distance between himself and Lady as he could, before settling into a chair to wait out the morning. It was impossible. Not only were there so many little creatures with his white hair and her mismatched eyes running around, the circumstances in which they were in...He shook his head, leaning back in the chair and looking out a window at the pre-dawn sky. No. It wasn't possible, and no one was more grateful than he himself.

Besides, even if it were and he would actually want such a thing (he didn't), they were far too young. And even if that weren't the case, it still wouldn't happen. No.

There was birth control for a reason.

Of course, with Lady being the good little Catholic girl she was, he doubted she'd agree with him on that, but it didn't matter. He was sterile. A hybrid.

Yes.

He shifted and sighed, one knee bouncing restlessly, before he stood once more and made his way to the kitchenette of the apartment, hating himself for digging out the tea but glad to give his hands something to do. And he set about putting water on the stove, as well, standing near it for the heat, as the drying sweat raised goose pimples on his flesh.

Ridiculous. He snorted at his own restlessness, before turning back to the kitchen to find a mug. Silly dreams brought on by stress. That was all. And more the fool him for getting himself worked up over them.


End file.
